


Incubus

by prairiecrow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Compulsion, Illicit Attraction, Incubus Jarvis, M/M, Paladin Steve Rogers, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 02:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Steven Rogers, the Virgin Captain of Amerlan, has triumphed in uncounted conflicts — but this battle might be beyond his power to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incubus

Where Sir Steven Rogers found the courage to lay his hand on the wrist of the tall slim figure with close-cropped wheat-blond hair and flashing azure eyes, he would never know. All he really knew was that it took more bravery than anything else he'd ever done in his life — he, who had battled Demons and slain dragons and rescued uncounted maidens and lads from various dire dooms, reduced to a cold sweat of fear by the prospect of touching a man he could have broken in two with one hand! 

But since when had anything about the person simply known as Jarvis, body servant of Lord Antony Stark, done anything less than shaken him to his core? Never, that's when: he'd caught one glimpse of him across a crowded room two months previous, and from that moment the Virgin Captain — who was, it was widely claimed, immune to the charms of any woman or man born — had begun to burn, and had been burning ever since. 

Well, he was tired of it, and so he'd followed Jarvis into this stone stairwell and caught up to him halfway to the top, and caught hold of his arm when he'd refused to turn round at the commanding pronunciation of his name — that, too, was strange, for Steve had been infused with the Gift of Command and had never met anyone who didn't respond to his orders. Jarvis, however, did not seem impressed: he was looking down at Steve's fingers, then up into his face, and in those eyes as blue as a Midwinter sky was a quality of self-possession quite unmistakeable — and irresistible. 

"Let go of me," Jarvis said quietly. 

And Steve did, glancing down at his traitorous hand with surprise at its unwitting obedience. 

For a long span of seconds they studied each other, face to face and alone for the first time. Steve saw nothing he hadn't seen before: the slender graceful body in a vest of cobalt dragon-hide leather that would have proclaimed the wealth of his master even if the elegant suit he wore had not, the narrow face almost elven in its delicacy, the tousle of hair that shone like carded gold even in the dim light of the service torches… and those eyes, so eloquent of mystery and intensity even in Jarvis's silence. Steve could only hope that he, in his dress tunic and dark pants and with long S'larin crystals woven into the delicate braid of his hair behind one ear, looked half as impressive — because he wanted to impress, so desperately that he ached with the yearning. He stared up into Jarvis's face and wondered yet again, fruitlessly, what poisoned arrow had stricken him thus, that a mere servant — and the servant of a man only nominally an ally! — should compel him so. 

"You don't understand, do you?" Heracles' Blood, his voice was like the purr of a rosewood violin! His full lips curved in a secret smile whose mysteries Steve hungered to unlock with his own mouth. "Why you're watching me. Why you've followed me here." 

Mutely, Steve shook his head. He didn't trust his own voice: he feared that if he tried to speak he'd fall to his knees, proclaiming the undying devotion he knew to be utter madness. 

Jarvis chuckled, gazing down at him with something that might have been pity if it hadn't been as cold as autumn rain. "Of course you don't. You've fought my kind before, but never one of my particular species, I'll warrant. Our forays into the Mid-Realm are… less overtly hostile than the sorts of attack you were created to repel." 

Steve blinked up at him, trying to get a grasp on that unexpected statement through the low hypnotic thrum of his own lust. It took him a couple of heartbeats, but at last he grappled it to the ground: "Your kind? But —" 

The flash of white teeth in a wider smile, delicate and sharp, stopped him like a knife-blade across his throat. "Come now, Captain — did none of your instructors counsel you on the habits of the Incubi?" 

"The Incubi…" His eyes widened, every muscle in his body tensing, because Demon-kind as a whole were his mortal enemies — but this Infernal creature, if such it was, made no move to attack. It remained poised like a dancer, watching him with detached interest as he came to terms with that revelation. "But — that's impossible! The Sentinels would have —" 

"The Sentinels," Jarvis interrupted dryly, "are quite capable of recognizing the terms of a contract fairly forged. And I do apologize for any discomfort I may have caused you, but it's certainly not my fault that you're proving more attuned to my, shall we say, particular frequency than most other human beings of my acquaintance. Perhaps it has something to do with the way your flesh was tempered…?" 

Steve continued to stare, disbelieving — but rapidly assimilating what he was hearing and putting it together with the irresistible pull toward this… no, not a man. _But close enough to serve,_ a hot little voice whispered in the back of his mind: _Oh yes, if you could but bend him to your will —_   

It was as if Jarvis could read his thoughts, because he squared his slender shoulders even more and drew himself up to his full height, eyes flashing with deeper fire. "More to the point," he said archly, "I am _his_ Incubus, and I have no interest in pursuing any sexual contact that he isn't willing to approve — or suggest." 

"You're…" Steve, whose combat experience consisted mainly of Inferi and Diaboli, didn't know much about Incubi as a species, but what he did know — yeah, this explained a lot. And opened up a whole new set of questions. " _His_ incubus?" 

"Of course." The blond was still looking down his dainty nose, but now one corner of his mouth was quirked in what could well be amusement. "Where did you think the power for his armour came from, pray tell?" 

Steve's mouth fell open, but no answer came out. "Um," he said at last. "But — you're a Demon, right? I don't see any horns, or scales, or any bindings on your person…" 

This time the way Jarvis's chin dropped and his left eyebrow rose conveyed pity. "There are more chains than those of cold iron, Captain," he said softly, almost as if to himself, gazing into Steve's eyes with those fascinating cold blue irises. "In fact, the cruelest chains of all have no physical dimension whatsoever." For an instant he smiled, icy and dazzling, before starting to turn away up the stairs again, remarking over his shoulder: "If you seek any more answers, I'm afraid you'll have to ask Lord Stark. I've already said far more than I'm sure he'd consider prudent." 

For a second or two Steve stood where he was, rooted to the spot by the overtly applied glamour of Jarvis's charm. Then he came back to himself and started up the stairs after him, holding out one imploring hand. "Wait!" he pleaded — 

— and Jarvis stopped and turned again, stopping Steve dead in his tracks. "Yes?" he queried, too softly, like the hiss of Hellish embers sifting onto virgin snow. 

Steve stared at him helplessly. "What's your name?" he blurted out, because somewhere in the back of his mind a trace of memory urged that it was an important question. "I mean — your real name?" 

And Jarvis laughed humourlessly, the sound devastating in its beauty. "Oh, Captain… even in your innocence, surely you know that such an answer is beyond my power to give?" 

And then he was gone up the stairs with a gleam of luxurious silks, leaving Sir Steven Rogers, the Virgin Captain of Amerlan, sweaty and more deeply shaken than ever in the chill twilight of the dying torches. 

THE END


End file.
